


Rouge à Lèvres

by kuragay



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Anxiety, Bullying, Fluff, Growing Up, Homophobic Slurs, M/M, Panic Attacks, and anyone who says otherwise can fight me, and he's gorgeous, yuuri wears makeup
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-04
Updated: 2016-12-04
Packaged: 2018-09-06 13:36:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,240
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8753959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kuragay/pseuds/kuragay
Summary: The first time Yuuri puts on makeup is also the first time another person hits him.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [【授權翻譯】Rouge à Lèvres by Petricular](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10516569) by [inoripooh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/inoripooh/pseuds/inoripooh)



> Yes, the title is in french because I'm a pretentious asshole. No, you can't stop me. It means lipstick, if you're curious.
> 
> A fic of Yuuri wearing makeup and growing up. Featuring: mean kids, bullying, homophobic language, a little bit of violence, and a little bit of blood. If any of those things bother you, please be careful.
> 
> Edit: I JUST GOT [ART](http://bansideyu.lofter.com/post/1e532a3b_f1cc86e) AND I'M CRYING YOU GUYS IT'S BEAUTIFUL

The first time Yuuri puts on makeup is also the first time another person hits him. He walks to school, a spring in his step because his mother called him pretty during breakfast, and his dad pinched his cheeks, and Mari told him that he looked like a princess. But as he takes his first step into the school, he knows immediately that not everyone is like his family.

The stares are fine at first. Sure, Yuuri feels his palms go clammy. And sure, he gets a little shaky and anxious. But Mari told him that people would stare no matter what, so he takes it in stride. He tries not to hunch over and hide as he walks, ready to just get to his classroom where it’s not so open.

“Yuuri!” Yuuko runs over, pulling him into a bone-crushing hug. Yuuri whines, and Takeshi laughs, pounding Yuuri on the back. “You look so pretty,” Yuuko cheers, patting Yuuri affectionately on the cheek.

It helps ease some of Yuuri’s previous doubt, and maybe it’s fine that he’s wearing makeup. He thinks he looks pretty, and Yuuko thinks he looks pretty, so really, it shouldn’t be a problem, right?

But then Takeshi opens his big fat mouth and says, “Why are you wearing makeup like a _girl_?” And he says ‘ _girl’_ like it’s a bad thing. Which confuses Yuuri because last time he checked, Takeshi has a crush on Yuuko, who is, in fact, a girl. 

“Takeshi!” Yuuko scolds, slapping his shoulder. “Yuuri can wear makeup if he wants. You’re just jealous because he looks prettier than you!”

Yuuri sighs, trying to speak up through his dread because he knows that they’re about to argue again.

“But only fags wear makeup,” Takeshi blinks, and Yuuri’s heart plummets.

Yuuri might not know many bad words, but he knows what _fag_ means, and he knows that it’s perceived to be a bad thing. Flushing, Yuuri looks at his feet. Partly from embarrassment and partly because it’s easier to look down than up. He wiggles his toes and grips his thighs with his hands, trying not to cry because that would definitely make things ten times worse.

“Takeshi!” Yuuko scolds again, only much harsher this time. “There’s absolutely nothing wrong with being gay. And wearing makeup doesn't make you gay.”

Gaping, Takeshi puffs out his chest. “But my dad said—”

“I don’t give a flying damn what your dad said.”

Yuuri winces at Yuuko’s crudeness, glad that she’s defending him, but also scared as to what would happen if a teacher catches her saying those words.

“Your dad’s wrong,” Yuuko proclaims, taking Yuuri’s hand. “And if you’re going to be mean to Yuuri, we’re not going to talk to you today.” She turns around, away from Takeshi, and marches Yuuri out as he stumbles to keep up, wondering where she’s dragging him because class is about to start.

He feels bad for Takeshi, but he also doesn’t know what else to say. He knows that Takeshi probably didn’t mean to say something mean. “Yuuko,” he mutters. “I don’t think he meant make you upset. Let’s just sit down.”

“Stupid!” Yuuko huffs, hitting Yuuri on the head as she lets him go. She slumps, defeated. “I don’t care if he makes me upset. I just care if he makes you upset! I know he doesn’t mean it, but he says such horrible things sometimes.”

Yuuri shrugs, trying to smile. “I really don’t mind.” He’s telling the truth. He knows that Takeshi has no bad intentions, and he would hate to be the reason for Yuuko falling out with him. “Let’s just go sit down,” he suggests again. “Class is starting soon.”

Yuuko nods, her fire replaced with annoyed grumbling, and she shoots Takeshi a glare as she sits down next to Yuuri. “You better apologize to Yuuri later,” She pouts, and Takeshi nods easily, looking far too relieved that she came back.

They’re really cute, and Yuuri hopes they stop arguing so much because it’s definitely not good for his heart every time they start to yell at each other. Even now, Yuuko glaring at Takeshi makes Yuuri want to run and hide from everything.

“I really do mean it though,” Yuuko says to Yuuri once she’s done staring Takeshi down. “You look really good. What lip gloss did you use?”

“Oh,” Yuuri squeaks, fumbling around with his fingers as he stares at a crack in the desk. “I, um, don’t really know. It’s Mari’s. She let me borrow it.”

Ignoring his stutter, Yuuko smiles easily. “It’s a really nice colour. Can I come over and try it on some day?”

Yuuri doesn’t get to reply because lessons start, but he feels a warm fluttering in his chest. One that only blooms as Takeshi apologizes later, feet shuffling and a flush on his face as Yuuko prompts him on.

But as lunch rolls around, the warmth leaves quickly. Outside the safety of the classroom, where the students are used to Yuuri’s shy eccentricity, the other kids aren’t as nice.

“Hey, piglet, is that eyeshadow?” A guy who Yuuri doesn’t even know is talking to him, and Yuuri swallows the shock at being addressed. It’s bizarre, because at first he doesn’t even know he’s the one being insulted. But then he looks around, and then at the taller male standing before him, and feels the slow budding of panic.

“Y-yes,” he stutters, even though he knows that it’ll lead to nothing good because nothing good can come out of answering a guy who starts off the conversation by calling the other _‘piglet’_. Maybe he shouldn’t have bothered replying at all. Maybe he should’ve just left to go find Yuuko and Takeshi.

“What are you? A girl?” He shoves Yuuri, not that hard, but also definitely not light. Yuuri stumbles, yelping, and a couple students around pause to witness the scene unfolding.

And what’s with that insult again? Surely a boy wearing makeup doesn’t automatically change his gender! That makes no sense!

“I’m a boy,” Yuuri says, and he almost wants to hit himself for talking back again. He rubs his shoulders where he was shoved, and starts to leave, trying to swallow the terror slowly engulfing him. _Just leave the situation. Walk away. He won’t push you again. Go to Yuuko and Takeshi._ He tries to slow down his heartrate, and he knows he’s failing as his chest tightens by the second. He doesn’t even know what’s happening. If he knew that wearing some lip gloss and eyeshadow would cause this to unfold, he wouldn’t have put any on.

He nearly jumps out of his skin when the boy grabs him roughly enough to hurt. “Let go,” Yuuri yelps, heat crawling down his neck because _this is mortifying._ He feels tears prick in his eyes, and he just wants to crawl under something and hide until the school day is over. He’s so confused, and scared, and _why isn’t anyone helping him?_

“Are you sure you’re a boy? Could’ve fooled me.” He pushes Yuuri again, this time with more force, and Yuuri falls down onto his butt with a soft _‘oomph’._

“Stop,” Yuuri cries, hating the way his voice cracks.

The taller boy only smiles, knocking Yuuri flat on the floor with his foot. “Faeries like you shouldn’t be allowed in this school. Your faggot ass is going to contaminate everything.”

This is a situation Yuuri’s never been in before, and he never wants to be in again. And he hates that there are tears down his cheeks, and he hates that he _can’t breathe,_ and that every inhale is like a stab. His shoulder and arm hurts from where he was grabbed, and his chest hurts from where the foot is keeping him held in place, and his squirming doesn’t do any good.

“Stop,” Yuuri says again, breaths coming in wheezes as the fear crashes through him in waves. “Please.”

“God,” The other guy throws his hands up. “I hate people like you!” He lifts his leg, finally, _finally,_ off of Yuuri’s chest and turns away, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

Tentatively, slowly, Yuuri starts to get up, trying not to cry more. He stands on wobbly legs, a couple people surging forward to help him, but Yuuri pushes them away because they weren’t helping before, and he doesn’t want their help now.

And then, faster than anyone can blink, the taller guy swings around, punching Yuuri straight across the face. It happens so quickly that Yuuri doesn’t even have time to scream. That no one has time to stop it. The pain blooms quickly, harshly, and the metallic taste of blood burst in Yuuri’s mouth as his head whips to the side. A cry breaks fast his lips, and a dripple of something warm drips from the corner of his mouth.

_Oh god, oh god, oh god._

He touches a hand to his mouth, and it comes back stained red. Startled yells erupt. A girl is running over with a teacher. Someone screams to get a nurse, and Yuuri’s head is so fuzzy that he can’t think. The pain is pretty bad too. Bad enough that his breath is whistling, and that he thinks he might throw up. A splatter of red falls onto the tiled floor that’s suddenly much closer to his face than before. And his vision is swimming.

He’s probably crying, he’s aware. And that gasping sound must be him too. But his ears won’t stop ringing, and his lungs can’t seem to breathe, and it would be terrible if he has a panic attack right then and there on top of all the chaos already unfolding.

A gentle hand is touching his shoulder, but Yuuri can barely feel it. He’s too busy trying not to freak out. The boy who hit him is being pulled away by a teacher. Yuuri hopes he has hell coming for him, and then feels guilty for wishing something bad on someone else. But then more blood falls from his mouth onto the floor, and the guilt is forgotten.

Someone presses cloth to his mouth. A teacher, probably. But Yuuri’s too busy sobbing to care, finally gathering his bearings. The pain is more pronounced now, and his stomach keeps spinning, the bloody taste on his tongue not helping him keep his breakfast in check.

He’s sure that he’s ruined his makeup by now, and that thought only makes the tears come down faster because it took so long to put it on. And he felt so pretty, but now he feels nothing but hurt and cold and alone.

He goes home with an ice pack, a blossoming bruise, a half-assed apology letter, and more blood on his lips than lip gloss.

He doesn’t wear makeup to school ever again.

 

 

Yuuri still likes to look good. Sometimes. As he grows, he escapes with ballet, and then, later on, figure skating. He learns to express his emotions through his movements because he’s never really been good at expressing them through words, and he lets them flow out with the music. Minako-sensei’s also teary-eyed after Yuuri performs on a bad day.

He doesn’t show anyone anymore. Not after the time he was pushed down and then punched. But when he’s alone at the onsen, he’ll dig through Mari’s scarce makeup collection that’s collecting dust, and put on some on. By the time he’s eighteen, he has the art of eyeliner down, and he can curl his lashes in his sleep. He also goes out to purchase his own secret stash of makeup.

He continues practicing and experimenting when he’s alone, watching YouTube tutorial after YouTube tutorial, and his collection of makeup expands as his knowledge continues to grow. Foundation, concealer, powder, primer. He can contour like nobody’s business by the time he’s twenty, and as his figure skating career grows, he finds more opportunities to actually put makeup on without the fear of being judged.

When he’s skating, or when he’s dancing, makeup is seen as an accentuation to the performance rather than something taboo. He can dust his cheeks with highlight and receive complements rather than backlash, and it’s liberating in a way that Yuuri’s never experienced. Not after his first time with makeup went so badly.

But even so, Yuuri rarely wears makeup when anyone else can see him. It’s something that still makes panic bloom, and still makes his chest squeeze and his palms sweaty. Something that he still finds the need to hide because he knows what happens when people see. He can still feel the phantom ache in his cheek sometimes. Can still remember the bruise, dark and swollen, and the horrified faces of his family.

He can’t handle that happening again. There’s no way. His heart is too fragile, and he’s not strong enough to take another punch.

Which is why, as Victor stares at him, he can feel his heart shatter again and again. It’s not the first time that Victor’s made his heart shatter. He remembers when Victor threatened to resign as his coach, after all. But he also remembers his warm lips, and running to him at the airport, and being held by him, and crying because he’s never loved somebody like he’s loved Victor.

And every moment he spends with Victor is a whirlwind of emotions that stab him in the chest.

But nothing, no competition and no threats of resignation, scares Yuuri like how he’s scared right now. Because Victor has walked in on Yuuri with a full face of makeup, strolling around the onsen. He thought that Victor was out, but evidently he’s not. And he’s staring at Yuuri with blue, _blue_ eyes, and Yuuri’s terrified.

“Don’t look,” Yuuri yelps, already running away because _Victor’s not supposed to see this._ And the logical side of his brain knows that Victor’s not going to hurt him. But Yuuri can still feel the sting of the words, and the force of the foot holding him down to the floor, and then the punch. He can still see the bright red drops dripping onto the floor from the gash on the inside of his cheek. Can still feel the sharp pain every time he tried to smile for the weeks following the incident.

It’s an old terror that overpowers logic, and Yuuri’s fight or flight instincts have chosen to go with the latter.

His heart nearly stops when gentle hands stop him in his path. Victor turns Yuuri so that they’re facing each other, and despite Yuuri’s best efforts to squirm out of Victor’s grasp, it’s futile.

“Why are you so anxious to get away?” Victor question, observing Yuuri’s face with intense scrutiny.

Yuuri fidgets. “Stop looking at me like that.”

Victor doesn’t stop, eyes piercing straight through Yuuri. Instead, he releases Yuuri’s arms to opt for touching his face. Really, it’s giving Yuuri the perfect opportunity to escape, but this is Victor, so he stays.

“You look good,” Victor says like he’s talking about the weather. They both sit down, and Yuuri accepts defeat and just lets Victor snuggle him like the cuddle monster he is. “Did you do it yourself?”

Yuuri swallows, then swallows again because it feels like there’s an entire bowl of katsudon stuck in his throat. “Yeah,” he’s finally able to say, forcing the panic down because _this is Victor._

 _This is Victor._ Victor, who never intends to actually hurt Yuuri. Victor, who apologizes over little things, and who’s dense sometimes, but also thoughtful and intelligent. Victor, who supports Yuuri’s growth, and who’s constantly growing as well.

There’s no reason to be afraid when he’s here in such a safe environment.

“I’ve always liked makeup.” Yuuri begins, even though he doesn’t know he’s telling Victor this because the older male didn’t even ask, but whatever. He’s started it now, so he might as well finish. Victor hums, nodding to show that he’s listening. “Even when I was young, I though it looked pretty. So one day, before school, I put some on. It wasn’t…well received, to put it lightly.”

Victor frowns, twirling Yuuri’s hair slowly with long fingers. It feels nice, and it’s comforting in a familiar sort of way. They’re face to face, sitting, noses practically touching, and he knows that Victor can see the mascara, the eyeliner, the shadow, the lipstick. It’s red lipstick, bold and bright—everything that Yuuri’s not. At least, that’s what he thought before he met Victor. And it’s a colour he would’ve never put on before, but one that he finds suits him well now.

“Were your parents mad?” Victor asks softly.

“No, no!” Yuuri reassures, glad that the frown is off Victor’s face for the time being. “They were very supportive. The problem was the kids at school. They were…” Yuuri purses his lips, “Mean.”

The frown is back on Victor’s face, and he tilts his head. “How so?” He must have speculations because it’s not exactly rocket science, but Yuuri knows that Victor’s waiting for him to share it.

Grimacing, Yuuri doesn’t really feel like telling the story. But Victor has the expression of a curiously concerned puppy, and Yuuri’s resolve is weak. Besides, he hates not telling Victor things. “Name calling, some stares, the usual. And also this one guy punched me in the face.” Trying to sound nonchalant doesn’t really word if Victor’s expression is anything to go by.

The widening of his eyes is measurable before they go cuttingly cold. Yuuri shivers even though he knows it’s not directed at him, and he wonders if he should be flattered or not.

“What an asshole,” Victor states, and Yuuri nods in agreement.

“But that was a long time ago,” He placates.

“Still an asshole,” Victor huffs, and Yuuri’s so glad that he’s not making a big deal of it. Yuuri’s not like Victor. He’s not dramatic, and as nice as it is to have people defend him, it’s pointless to do it over something that happened ages ago.

Yuuri nods again. “Yeah. He was. I stopped wearing makeup to school after that. But because I hate losing, and I felt like I had lost, I still practiced to become better. I initially tried to run from you because I was scared,” Yuuri admits. “It’s not so scary now.” He beams at up at Victor, fluttering his eyelashes, knowing full well the effects it will have if Victor’s hitch in breathing is anything to go by. “I think my efforts payed off, right? Am I pretty.”

It takes a couple seconds for Victor’s heartbeat to return to normal. But when Yuuri presses the side of his face to the older male’s hard chest, he swears that his heartbeat is still sped up. “Very,” Victor says easily, and Yuuri knows his own cheeks must be redder than the blush. “It’s too bad,” Victor somehow leans closer, breathing on Yuuri, his scent minty fresh, “that the other kids,” a peck on the lips, and then another, deepening it, slowly running his hands up Yuuri’s shirt, licking the red lipstick right off with a dart of the tongue, “couldn’t see it.”

There’s no more lipstick on Yuuri’s lips after, but there’s no blood either. Instead, there’s a gentle blush dusting his face, smudged eyeliner, and a very happy Victor who demands for Yuuri to leave a lipstick mark his cheek the next time they kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Edit: I realize that Yuuko and Takeshi aren't in the same grade as Yuuri, but I'm too lazy to change it now. Hope it doesn't ruin the story¿


End file.
